


our only hope is the minds of kids

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 3.08 fic, Canon fic, Siblings, Slight Canon Divergence, some much needed jones sibling conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: “What is it?” he asks again, folding his arms as they perch on some stacked tires.Jellybean doesn’t meet his eyes for a second, swinging her skinny legs back and forth, thinking. “I didn’t know,” she eventually says. When she looks up, Jughead swears her eyes are shining.





	our only hope is the minds of kids

_The kids of tomorrow don't need today_  
_When they live in the sins of yesterday_

**-** **Red Flag, Billy Talent**

.

.

.

Though it’s not the safest he’s ever felt, Jughead is still thankful for the beds his mom put up for him and Archie.

If he’s being honest, the safest he ever felt was sleeping rough in the old Twilight Drive-In. The musty smell that seemed woven into every wooden slat, the occasional creak of the metal projector cooling down after a double feature. Shelves upon shelves of tape reels packing him in until perhaps he could be a movie too—packed into the right box, sound asleep, safe and warm.

It was a similar feeling tucked into the janitor’s closet of Riverdale High. They say that in times of distress being wrapped tight is an instant soother; it’s why you swaddle a baby or give someone a hug. Inside those four tiny walls, Jughead felt compressed, safe, like he could finally watch all sides and stave off attack—if it weren’t for every click, tap, and bump that made him think someone was coming to throw him back onto the streets.

Archie’s house was different. Jughead didn’t feel safe there, because he’d forgotten that he needed to feel scared altogether. But that’s long gone.

The trailer had always been a place of contention. It was a place of shattered glass and burnt toast for dinner. Of week long rows and his mother crying at midnight—his father crying at three am. It was the place that came after they moved and left his treehouse behind, and Jughead felt his first gut-wrenching sense of loss, childhood spoiling like sour milk.

It was also the place where Jellybean was born. Where the giggles of a baby echoed when a six year old Jughead had tickled her belly. It was rain on a cold tin roof almost drowning out the dulcet tones of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on Christmas Eve. It was his dad standing in the doorway while his mom read _Gone With the Wind_ to him before bed, until the wind picked her up and she, too, was gone.

The trailer was always a toyhouse, masquerading as something it’s not.

Jughead’s come to learn though, in the past year, that it doesn’t need to be a place that makes you feel safe, that becomes a home.

Safe is double features at the Bijou with Archie, tossing popcorn at his best friend to get him to stop asking questions during the best parts.

Safe is sitting around a campfire with Fangs, with Sweet Pea, and Toni, trading war stories to pass the time, accompanied by a milkshake and side order of chilli fries.

Safe is Betty Cooper—asking him to join the paper, to solve a murder, to be a lover. That fond tilt of her head she always gives him, eyes wide and earnest, and the soft sighs that slip past her lips when he traces the maps in the veins beneath her skin… that’s Jughead’s home.

And he could only call home the look that Jellybean had given him when she saw him through the gate. Something clicked in his chest, slotting back into place as his little sister slid beneath his arms, safe and sound and home.

Jughead’s probably in the deepest sleep he’s had for weeks when a sharp tap against his head sets his heart racing. His hands scramble for purchase on the rickety bed frame, searching for a weapon.

“Chill out, jumpy. It’s me.”

Jellybean stands before him, still in her greaser getup, wringing her clasped hands in front of her.

Jughead releases a breath, willing his pulse to slow. “Damnit, Jelly. Warn a guy on the run next time,” he chastises, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but he shoots her a wry smile to let her know he’s not seriously mad.

And how could he be? What feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw his sister. She’s shot up about a foot, and the sun has bleached her hair a lighter brown—or maybe he just remembers it differently, entire memories void of colour. Does he even _know_ her anymore, past a few brief phone calls here and there?

Those thoughts are swiftly pushed aside as he looks at the nervous apprehension in her eyes, thinks of her motormouth and her dumb name calling—she’s still just Jellybean. The rest doesn’t matter right now.

“What is it?” Jughead whispers, conscious of Archie’s gentle snores less than a foot away. Jellybean sends a few furtive glances his way as well before turning back.

“Can I talk to you for a sec? Mom’s out back.”

Jughead rises even as he nods, following her through a door and between rows of mashed up metal he assumes to be car parts, maybe even valuable ones—or just junk. Betty would know.

“What is it?” he asks again, folding his arms as they perch on some stacked tires.

Jellybean doesn’t meet his eyes for a second, swinging her skinny legs back and forth, thinking. “I didn’t know,” she eventually says. When she looks up, Jughead swears her eyes are shining.

“About?”

“Mom didn’t tell me that you called. You know, before. She didn’t say you’d asked to come and see us and that… that she’d said no.” She murmurs the last part so low that Jughead’s subconsciously leaning forward to hear her.

It still stings. The memory of that phone call, sliding down the hard glass, receiver limp in his numb hand on that awful night. _Huh_ , he thinks, _child’s play_.

But he can see it stung Jelly just as bad and that the wound is fresh. He reaches out to tug one of her braids, trying to elicit a smile, a grimace, anything.

“Don’t sweat it, JB,” he consoles, using her preferred nickname to butter her up. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I made it here, didn’t I?” he jokes.

“Yeah, but you didn’t even try and call this time,” she half-yells, an angry furrow appearing between her eyebrows. “Like you thought she’d do it again.”

“Wouldn’t she?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but it had just come spilling out before his tongue could stop it. JB winces.

“No! At least— No. No, she wouldn’t have. It’s different now.” She reaches up to tighten the knot on her bandana. “Things have only just gotten better up here.” She thuds the heels of her boots against rubber. “What she was saying before about studying and buying this place—it’s legit. She wanted to get out. Living with Gran and Pops was hard.” Her nose scrunches in distaste.

“I’m sorry,” Jughead says automatically, because his sister doesn’t deserve hardships. “I missed you, squirt.”

She looks up at him with a mischievous smile. “I missed you too, Juggie.” The name in her voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

“So you fix up cars now, do you?” Jughead says after swallowing thickly, raising an eyebrow at her oil stained attire.

Jellybean preens a little until his gaze, puffing out her chest. “Yup, Mom taught me everything she knows. I’m one of the best round here.” It comes out sounding like a definite brag.

Jughead shakes his head as he chuckles. “Guess that gene skipped me.” At her quizzical look he continues. “Dad wanted my help fixing up his old bike so I could ride it,” he explains. “But I ended up being such a hindrance that he sent me out of the shop for the burger run instead.”

Jellybean laughs, and the sound cocoons him like that safe place.

“Hang on a second, you have a motorbike?” Jughead nods. “Then what the hell are you and red rooster doing hitching your way to Toledo?”

A pauses stretches on before Jughead answers, “Well, did Kerouac ever ride a bike?” he snips, poking her side as punishment for her teasing.

“No,” she drawls, dodging his hand. “But he dreamt about it.”

Jughead can understand why.

“I wish you had ridden it,” JB continues, a faraway look clouding her eyes. “I would have loved to see that engine.”

A laugh bursts from Jughead’s mouth. “You sound just like Betty.” Longing makes itself known with a pang in his chest, his gut, guilt still creeping up his insides.

“Betty?” JB asks, tilting her head.

“Yeah.” Jughead can feel his cheeks redding as they do anytime he thinks of Betty being his. “My girlfriend.”

“ _Girlfriend_?” Jellybean squeaks, eyes widening and then, if possible, widening further. “Wait, you don’t mean Betty Cooper, do you?” she asks incredulously.

“How many Betty’s do you know in Riverdale?” he drawls.

“Oh my god! How did you finally manage that?”

“I resent your surprise.”

“Wow. Betty Cooper,” she repeats, like she’s testing the name out on her tongue now that it’s attached to a new sentiment. “That’s great, Jughead,” she smiles softly.

“Thanks. I think she’d really like you,” he offers softly. “She knows about cars too.”

“Yeah? She was always nice to me, from what I can remember. Really pretty as well,” she adds with already far too much mastery of coyness for Jughead’s liking.

“Shut up,” Jughead scoffs despite her silence, his blush deepening. “She is.”

Jughead can tell there’s something more she wants to say but she’s having trouble finding the words, chewing on her lip absentmindedly. He waits silently, listening to the distant sounds of cicadas and the popping of corrugated metal cooling down.

“How’s Dad?” she finally asks, back to not meeting his eye.

Jughead sighs, running a hand through his bedhead. She sounds her age again now; she’s been acting so much beyond her years this whole time that it’s easy to forget she’s just a kid with a fucked up family—like he is, such is the Jones family curse.

But he’s the big brother and if he can shoulder the brunt then he’d do it a thousand times over if it meant Jellybean’s burden was lighter. “Dad is… Dad. He’s been through a lot—not that that’s an excuse,” he adds quickly, seeing her scowl. “But he has his moments of trying, I suppose.”

“I still blame him,” she says slowly. “I still think that everything is all his fault. But… I know some of it was Mom’s fault too, but it doesn’t feel the same. Why not?” The look she sends him hurts his chest.

Jughead shifts so that he’s sitting next to her instead of across from, tucking her firmly against his side with an arm around her shoulders. For her part, she lets him, settling her head on his shoulder, her frame trembling a little under his hand.

“I get it, Jelly, I do. It’s so f— messed up. And you blame Dad, and I can’t help but blame Mom because we always blame the people who leave us behind, and forgive the ones who don’t. There’s something in that, the staying behind, that makes it harder to hold a grudge.”

Her shoulders shake as she sucks in a ragged breath, hot air blowing against his chest. “Do you blame me?” she whispers in a wobbling voice.

Jughead pulls back abruptly to look at her, lips parting in shock. “What? Of course I don’t! Why would you think that?”

“Because I left you behind, too,” she sobs quietly. “You just said— I didn’t stay either.”

He pulls her closer again, squeezing her tightly to his side. “JB, that’s not the same at all. You didn’t choose to go, and even if you did I wouldn’t blame you. You went where you were safe, where Mom thought you were safe. And for all her failings I’m… kind of glad she took you with her, gave you a fighting chance. I mean, look at the state of Riverdale now,” he huffs a mirthless laugh.

Jughead looks around as Jellybean continues to weep gently against his chest before fading to hiccups, her fingers relaxing their grip on the front of his vest.

This isn’t exactly what Jughead had pictured for his sister when she was taken from their home with little more allowed than a goodbye. It was more toy shop than chop shop, with a good school and enough money for proper home cooked meals in a kitchen with brick walls.

But, as he’s found out, home doesn’t always come in conventional forms at the best of times. That doesn’t make it any less of a home.

Jughead carries a slumbering, cried-out Jellybean to her bed, pulling the sheets up around her chin on an autopilot that’s still operational.

After, he picks up the first phone he can find, dialling the number he’s known by heart for a long time.

“Hi, this is Betty Cooper! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”

The beep sounds and Jughead takes a breath, pulling his lower lip between his teeth harshly at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, Betts. It’s me again. Just checking in to say I love you. Again. And… I finally got to see Jellybean today...” 

**Author's Note:**

> if betty and jb don’t meet and bond over mechanics, I will riot.
> 
> (we riot at dawn.)


End file.
